The Last Snoggletog
by AlsoAleteia
Summary: Part 2 of the Phantomverse. Four winters after the Phantom has stopped haunting them, Berk celebrates Snoggletog. Finding that perhaps, in many ways, the Phantom is still with them after all. Set after the events of The Phantom of the Arena, and about half a year before those of the sequel (currently WIP), The Phantom of the Archipelago.


**A/N: Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it! I am very happy to be back in the Phantomverse with a little story for the holidays. This one-shot is set **_**after **_**the events of the Phantom of the Arena and hence contains major spoilers for that story. **

**It is also set about half a year **_**before**_** the events of the sequel I am working on as I post this – **_**The Phantom of the Archipelago**_**…**

* * *

Winter storms were a yearly recurrence on Berk. They were sudden, unpredictable, gripping you with full force before you properly realised what you'd gotten yourself into. Their strong winds released torrents of snow right in your face, making your skin feel as if it was being grazed by ice while you slowly lost any sense of feeling in your fingers. No number of layers of clothes would help, they all became soaked through more quickly than you expected them to, after which they'd freeze to your limbs, turning your skin red and finally blue. The only thing you could do was look for shelter, hoping, praying to the Gods that they'd cease their torment and allow you to make it through the night.

Astrid Hofferson wasn't sure which alternative was worse. The snowstorms the Gods brought down upon them, or dealing with the blizzard that was a three-year old on Snoggletog Day.

"Mummy!"

She felt something pull on her sleeve and looked down into a pair of big, absurdly green eyes, surrounded by a smattering of freckles all belonging to Hamish Hofferson. She was about to open her mouth to tell him off when he was whisked away by a pair of hands that weren't hers.

"What did we say about going near the fire?" her mother scolded Hamish, lifting him up under his armpits and looking at him with a strict expression.

Astrid didn't need to see Hamish's face to know he was pouting. "But -"

"No, Hamish, what did we say?" her mother insisted.

Hamish's shoulders slumped in defeat. "It's dangerous."

"Right," her mother nodded. "So don't do it."

"But I wanna know when Odin's coming!" Hamish squirmed, twisting his head to look at his mother.

Astrid rolled her eyes and smiled to herself as she stirred the pot in front of her. He definitely hadn't been asking her that question non-stop since this morning.

"Grandpa Stoick isn't here yet," she reminded him. "He has to make sure everyone is okay first."

"Cause he's the Chief!" Hamish beamed as if he was the only one in the room who was aware of that information.

"Exactly," her father nodded, scratching his brown beard. "And Odin doesn't deliver presents if you're watching."

"Why not?" Hamish asked.

_Because none of it is true_, Astrid mused to herself, blowing on the ladle and taking a sip. She pondered for a moment before turning to her mother. "Mom, do you think this needs more yak?"

"I'm sure it tastes great, honey," her mother instantly replied.

She tasted again, really letting the beverage simmer on her tongue, and nodded to herself. "Yeah, I actually think this might be my best batch of yaknog yet!" Who knew she could actually learn how to cook? Let alone come up with her cup of holiday cheer.

"Why not?" Hamish asked.

"Because he doesn't want to be seen," her mother tried.

"Uncle Tuff saw him," Hamish retorted.

Her mother rolled her eyes, but her father played along. "Oh, did he?"

"Yes!" Hamish insisted as his grandmother put him down. He bounded over to his grandfather's chair. "He says he looks like a troll."

"And what do trolls look like, then?" Astrid's father humoured him, ruffling Hamish's auburn hair - as if it wasn't messy enough already - before lifting him onto his lap, Hamish's boots landing on his grandpa's knees.

"Dunno," Hamish shrugged, his shoulders moving more than they should.

"Because they aren't real," her mother cut in.

Hamish adamantly shook his head. "Uncle Gobber says they are! They steal socks."

"And do they have any preference? Red socks, blue socks, brown socks?" her father asked.

Hamish furrowed his brows for a moment, leaving the room simmering with anticipation.

"Left socks," he finally decided.

Astrid considered for a moment whether she should enlighten Hamish about how Gobber didn't have a left foot, but since her mother also simply shook her head, she decided they could do with a little less Hofferson-realism for the day.

"I looked for them with Grandpa Stoick!" Hamish continued.

That was news to her. "Didn't Grandpa Stoick take you fishing?" Stoick had needed the break after Black Plague Friday - they all did - and had been kind enough to take Hamish with him upstream.

"Fishing's boring," Hamish stated, as if the food he was served every day simply appeared out of thin air. She could agree with the sentiment though. The amount of time she could save if she still had Stormfly…

But that was something she could only dream of.

While Hamish started to ramble about his latest adventures, she redirected her attention to the large pot in front of her, noting that the yaknog had thickened enough, but was still bubbling slightly. Meaning it was absolutely perfect.

"Hamish," she called, prompting the excitable ball of fluff to look up at her. "Do you want to help me hand out some yaknog outside?"

Hamish's face lit up with a bright smile, and he nodded. "Yes!"

"Go get your clothes, then," she ordered. Hamish instantly jumped off his grandfather's lap and ran to the bedroom.

Her mother took the ladle from her, filling the mugs Astrid had borrowed from the Great Hall while Astrid held them up and arranged all but five of them on her favourite festive shield. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a pile of clothes waddling back out of her parents' bedroom, unable to see where it was going.

She put the tray of yaknog down on the table, shaking her head and picking her favourite bundle of furs up from the floor, separating him from his outdoor clothes and putting them both on a chair. Hamish was surprisingly compliant, only swinging his legs back and forth while she bound a festive red scarf the same colour as his tunic around his head and pulled a dark green knit cap over his ears, his unruly auburn hair sticking out at the bottom. She wrapped him up in his fur coat and a pair of mittens and pulled on his outfit until she was sure there were no more gaps through which he could get cold.

She dressed herself and handed Hamish one of the mugs after he jumped off the chair. "Be careful, it's hot, okay? Keep it in both of your hands and watch your feet."

Hamish nodded as well as his scarf allowed him too, staring at his mug like a mother dragon at her favourite hatchling. "Yes Mummy!"

She pulled up the hood she'd now owned for almost four years and took the tray from the table before turning to her parents. "If it goes as fast as last year, we won't be long. If you need us, I don't think we'll head outside of the village centre."

"Take as long as you need, dear," her mother reassured her, taking care of the now-empty pot. "We've got all day."

"Just don't be surprised if we finish our mugs before you get back!" her father added, standing up to open the door, and her mother nodded along with the kind of enthusiasm rarely seen from Sigrid Hofferson.

Astrid grinned. "I would be disappointed if you didn't!"

She shivered for a moment when they stepped outside, figuring that this was the kind of cold no one ever _really _got used to. But experience had taught her that if you simply sucked it up and endured for long enough, it wasn't quite so bad.

They walked through the village centre, its streets busy with celebrating Berkians despite the light snow, and handed out mugs of warm yaknog to anyone who liked to have some. She'd expected Hamish to bound off to jump into one of the piles of snow as soon as he could, but to her surprise he actually stayed at her side, eagerly taking a new mug from her tray after he'd managed to charm someone into accepting the one he had.

Astrid knew all too well how hard it was to say no to his big, green eyes. She'd thought Toothless begging for fish was the worst she'd have to deal with in her life, but Hamish had quickly proven her wrong. She was starting to get better at saying 'no' however. She didn't want to end up like Snotlout after all. Little Solveig had managed to completely wrap her father around her finger and leave Ruffnut to do the actual parenting. In her own Thorston way.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered what kind of parent Hiccup would be around Snoggletog. He'd probably be up all night, last-minute trying to finish the perfect gift, all exhaustion fading away when Hamish found it the following day, his face lighting up with the kind of beaming smile that was unique to their son.

She silently scolded herself. She shouldn't think about things like that. Especially not today.

By the time they reached the village square, the Snoggletog Tree proudly standing in the middle of it, they had already handed out half of the mugs, Hamish's sales technique surprisingly effective. Most Berkians took the beverage back home with them, telling her they'd rather take their time and enjoy it by the fire. She felt it was a compliment - at least they didn't jug it down the way they did with mead. They actually made an effort to enjoy it.

And they no longer scowled at her the way they had the first year she'd been back on Berk.

She'd missed the first Snoggletog after the Phantom had left Berk. She'd been out looking for Hiccup, desperately hoping she could tell him he was going to be a father. But she hadn't been lucky enough to succeed. And when she returned she had to deal with a village that scowled at her when her pregnancy became more visible and she could no longer hide her growing belly with loose-fitting shirts and dresses.

She could take the stares, she could deal with the disapproval. But she didn't want Hamish to be a victim of her bad decisions more than he already was. She wanted him to have a normal childhood to the extent that he could. So she did whatever she could to help out the village, in spite of the judgement she received. Serving everyone yaknog was just one of the things she did, and judging by people's reactions and how, as they reached the village square, none of the parents complained when Hamish instantly rushed off to play with their kids, it had worked.

She briefly chatted with Gobber after she'd run out of yaknog, listening to his lecture on all the 'grand surprises' he'd cooked up for the feast tonight. That kind of defeated the point of it being a surprise, but his descriptions made her mouth water enough for her not to mind.

She caught up with Heather and Fishlegs, who really seemed to be regretting setting their sights on a Spring wedding. Even though Heather had practically been living with Fishlegs ever since she'd moved to Berk, there were a lot more eyes on them now that they were properly engaged. Meaning that they'd lost a part of their freedom and were expected to stick to the tradition of staying celibate until they were properly married. Heather was one of the only people who dared to - and was allowed to - joke that perhaps, Astrid and Hiccup should have been a little more 'traditional' as well. Which was ironically illustrated by Astrid spotting Hamish in the corner of her eye, starting to scale up the Snoggletog Tree, and her having to rush over to pluck him off it.

He could climb just fine, his mittens not limiting him at all. Getting down was the problem. She feared he would break one, if not both, of his legs one of these days. As Stoick put it, the boy suffered from a heart-stopping combination of Astrid's athletic intuition, Hiccup's curiosity and, of course, his lack of danger assessment.

She supposed one of the upsides of dragons hardly being seen these days was that Hamish couldn't jump off the back of one. Because he definitely would.

She had to tug Hamish back by his coat a few more times while hearing Tuffnut out about all the 'absolutely wicked' stuff he'd treated himself with in this year's Black Plague Friday sales. Her son finally seemed to lose interest when Ruffnut and Snotlout came over with Solveig proudly cradling an over-sized stuffed rabbit to her chest. As if the girl didn't own enough stuffed animals yet.

"Looks like someone's spine tragically broke on Black Plague Friday," she teased, grinning as Hamish immediately started curiously poking the rabbit. "How Gothi manages to patch you back up again every time is beyond me."

Snotlout only managed to muster up a guilty smile in response, prompting Ruffnut to roll her eyes and lightly slap his biceps. "I told him before they went out! She has enough toys already, and it's not like she's not getting anything new today."

"She's my little princess, okay!" Snotlout offered, putting up both of his hands. "Whatever she wants, she gets."

Ruffnut audibly sighed. "Even princesses have to learn how to _share_."

"Exactly!" Tuffnut nodded. "Ruffnut and I had to share _every _present we got!"

"You did not!" Snotlout rebuked.

"Oh yes, we did! Every sword -"

"I know you're pulling my leg, Tuff."

"- every axe -"

"I've been married to a Thorston for over four years, I can smell your family's shit by now!" Snotlout cut in, while Ruffnut shook her head and mouthed the words _he can't _to Astrid.

"Even _Macey!_" Tuffnut gestured wildly, slicing the air in front of him. "Right through half!"

"Why do I put up with you again?"

"You just don't know the sorrows of being a _true_ Thorston! You may have married into it, but you're not really _living _it."

"And why do I let you look after my daughter?"

Tuffnut proudly crossed his arms over his chest. "Because I'm the best babysitter on this entire island. That's why."

"He is," Astrid instantly concurred.

"Yup." Ruffnut clapped her husband's shoulder, making Snotlout visibly wince. "No argument there, hot stuff."

"Well now that that's cleared up -" Tuffnut continued despite Snotlout's insistent glare.

"Grandpa!"

Hamish shot right past them, snow flurrying up as he rushed into the wide-spread arms of Stoick the Vast, an unstoppable force tackling an immovable object with a hug.

"Hamish!"

"That's my cue," Astrid smiled, tucking her tray-shield under her arm. "See you tonight."

The others waved and said their goodbyes as she walked over to Stoick and Hamish, the latter already babbling excitedly.

"Mama! Grandpa says Odin came with presents!" he smiled.

She exaggeratedly pulled up her eyebrow. "Oh, did he? Then we just missed him!"

Hamish's face clouded slightly and she smiled at him, poking his cute nose. "But you helped me hand out yaknog to the entire village. So I'm sure Odin's proud of you." She kissed his cheek. "I know I am."

That seemed to put Hamish at ease, his worries soon forgotten as Stoick lifted him up on his shoulders, the view from up high never ceasing to amaze him. She got that. She knew all too well how different the world looked from above. It was something she didn't simply forget.

They made their way back to her parents' house, their mugs of yaknog already empty and Hamish's completely forgotten when he spotted his helmet by the now low-burning hearth. He surged towards it as soon as Stoick put him down, leaving Astrid to fall to her knees behind him and take off his snow-soaked outer clothes while he dug in.

Her parents had stuffed Hamish's helmet, which was still too large and slid over his eyes when he actually wore it, with sweets he liked, along with a small but high-quality wooden sword, Hamish's initials carved into the hilt. _H.H. _Like his father, and the ancestors he'd been named after, before him. Just the _H _for _Hofferson _instead of the last name he should have had.

She managed to tug Hamish's coat over his arms just before he started swinging the sword around, clearly already in love with his gift. She shared a look with her parents, taking in their delighted gazes, and smiled back at them, silently thanking them. For more than just today.

The next present Hamish found was her own; a bundle of papers, bound in brown leather, with a charcoal pencil tucked between the pages. The same kind of booklet as the one Hiccup always carried with him.

Hamish picked it up with care, feeling the leather beneath his fingers. She wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled him back into her chest, looking over his shoulder and slowly closing her hands around her gift so she could show him the empty pages.

"It's a notebook," she explained, taking the pencil and drawing a single line onto the paper to demonstrate. "People write stuff down in it they think is important, or need to remember. Uncle Fishlegs has a lot of them. That's how he knows so much. And Grandpa Stoick does the same."

Hamish, eyes filled with wonder, glanced back at Stoick, who nodded along with her story.

"And Daddy, he…"_Don't talk in past-tense, _she reminded herself. "… he does the same. Whenever he sees a new dragon, or finds out something about them he didn't know yet, he makes notes for himself. Because he's very smart, but he also forgets things."

"Like what?"

"Well, you remember what Gronckles eat, right?"

Hamish nodded enthusiastically. "Rocks!"

"Yes, all kinds of rocks. Daddy knew that, and he'd written down how much fish Gronckles could eat too, but he encountered this Gronckle he wanted to befriend. And there weren't a lot of edible rocks around, so he thought he could feed him fish for this one day. Later that night, Daddy found out that was _not _a good idea, at all," she laughed. "Do you know what happens to Gronckles if they eat too much fish?"

Hamish shook his head and she leaned in, whispering in his ear as if she was telling him a secret. "They love the fish. But it makes them fart, _a lot_." Hamish started giggling, so she threw in a bit more of her high-quality humour. "It smells _really _bad. And Daddy had to spend the whole night in a cave with that Gronckle."

"Poor Daddy," Hamish chuckled.

"Yeah, your Dad's a bit of a dummy like that sometimes," she smiled, hugging Hamish closer. If only those had been the worst mistakes Hiccup had made.

"But what he also does, is drawing pictures," she continued, more seriously. "It's Daddy's Book of Dragons after all, that we have at home. The one I read you from, with all the dragon drawings you love. Daddy didn't just write the words, he drew all of the dragons too. And he has many more sketches, especially of Toothless."

"_Whoa,_" Hamish gaped.

"It's pretty cool, right?" She nodded against Hamish's shoulder. "And now you and I can draw together too."

Hamish clapped his hands in excitement. "And show Daddy and Toothless when they're home!"

She could feel the eyes of the other adults in the room on her. Concerned, as if she didn't have to deal with this every day. As if by now, she hadn't gotten used to telling half-truths to the person she loved most in the entire world.

She simply closed the sketchbook and cuddled Hamish as tightly as she could. "Of course. They'll love them. Toothless knows talent when he sees it."

"Toothless is smart."

"Oh, absolutely," she concurred. "Smartest dragon I ever met. He draws too, but he can't hold a pencil with his claws, so he draws in the sand with his tail and a stick."

"I love sticks!"

She smiled to herself, shaking her head. If only life was always so simple. "So what do we say now? Who do we thank for the gifts?"

"Odin."

"So we say…?" she continued when Hamish looked up at her. "Than…"

"Thank you, Odin!" Hamish completed, before looking back at his grandparents. "Did you see him?"

Her father shook her head. "No. We were upstairs. He must have sneaked in through the chimney!"

Hamish looked up in wonder, and Astrid just _knew _he was trying to figure out if he'd fit through the chimney himself. She was sure he did, and that she would have to watch him even more closely in the coming days.

"But I do think we heard something in the bedroom while we were there, didn't we?" her father continued, looking at her mother, who nodded along but stayed silent. "Shall we take a look?"

Hamish nodded in excitement, his other presents temporarily forgotten as he jumped to his feet and let Grandpa Arne lead him into the bedroom. Astrid heard his delighted squeal not much later, which she knew had been in reaction to a rocking horse that'd been made to look like a dragon, even with a small set of wings. Stoick had put more time and effort into it than his duties allowed for. But he'd reassured her that he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Spoiling Hamish was the only way he could try to repay the debt he felt he had towards Hiccup, after all.

"Arne and I play along, Chief," her mother remarked, all too aware Hamish was out of earshot and preoccupied. "But I do want to make it clear that I don't approve."

"I know, Sigrid," Stoick simply said.

Her mother pursed her lips, clearly not getting the answer she was looking for.

"Mom, do we really have to do this today?" Astrid tried. "_Again?_"

"If not today, then when?" her mother argued.

"I don't know, I don't think it's a problem to begin with, so I don't see why we need to have this discussion. As if we've never had it before."

"Both of you -" Her mother gestured to her and Stoick. "- can see how dangerously much he resembles Hiccup. He's already obsessed with dragons, and you're only feeding it further with your stories and these kind of presents."

"Being like Hiccup isn't dangerous," Stoick countered.

"A lot of the village disagrees," her mother threw back.

"And they're part of the reason he _became_ dangerous," Astrid hissed. "And what else would you have me do? Just not mention his father? Hamish is smart, he'd start asking questions eventually. I'd rather be ahead of him."

"You could've told him his father's dead," her mother bluntly said. "It wouldn't be an exception for a Berkian kid."

"Hiccup's not dead," Stoick cut in before Astrid could, the room cooling down due to the iciness hardly ever heard in Stoick the Vast's voice.

It left her mother completely unfazed. "Chief, we haven't received a sign of life from your son in over a year."

"That doesn't mean he's dead," Astrid snapped. Sure, there had been obvious signals that Hiccup was still alive, in the first few years… A ripped out eye-ball or two, a severed piece of skin, all belonging to the Red Death and delivered to Berk overnight to make a point. Brought here by dragons, she presumed. She didn't want to believe that Hiccup had been on Berk himself without checking in on her. And on the son he didn't know he had.

"I'm just afraid you're setting him up for disappointment," her mother said, more silently now. "We can't keep pretending Hiccup will come back for the rest of his life while he doesn't. Like you said, Hamish is smart."

"We'll fight that dragon when it rears its ugly head," Stoick decided, sounding more like the Chief of Berk, and less like family. It was the way their arguments always ended.

Astrid got up from the floor, wiping some of her hair out of her face and looking at her mother. "I can't just forget about him, or his dream. Our dream."_ A world safe enough for dragons._ "I'm not going to raise another Berkian dragon killer, that's not how this works, that's not what Hiccup would want, and neither do I. I know it's overly sentimental, I know it doesn't necessarily make _sense_, but…"

She fisted one of her hands in her skirt, averting her gaze. "It's just not that simple. Of course I wish Hiccup were here, especially this time of year. Snotlout and Ruffnut get to spend all day with Solveig, even Spitelout being slightly tolerable for the occasion, and meanwhile I'm here _pretending_ Hiccup cares about Hamish as much as all of us."

She bit her lip, wiping her eyes. "It's not _fair. _None of it is." She stared into the fire so she wouldn't glare at the woman who'd raised her and who she'd relied on so much the past four years. "And you don't need to enlighten me on how it was Hiccup's own choices, and mine, that got us here. I _know _that. Better than anyone else." She shook her head. "But there's nothing I can do about it. _I tried_. I'm still trying, every single day."

It was becoming less difficult. Slightly. But she doubted the pain would ever really go away.

She felt a large hand on her shoulder, undoubtedly Stoick's, and leaned into his comforting touch. "We all know what it's like to miss someone you love this time of year," he softly said. She knew he wasn't just talking about Hiccup. Stoick had lost more friends and family than she could imagine. "But the only thing we can do when they can't be here for the holiday, is celebrate them. It's what they'd want us to do."

She could only agree with that. And when Hamish burst back in, dragging his newest toy out of the bedroom and proudly showing it to everyone, her mother resigned herself to it as well. It was their burden to bear, after all, not Hamish's.

Her son was simply happy, his bright and bubbly smile lighting up the room. And that was all that really mattered.

* * *

Gobber most certainly hadn't lied about all the effort he'd put into the Snoggletog feast. He had practised absolutely zero self-constraint, and as a result, this was easily the best year yet. Roasts, stews, vegetables from the lands they had finally been able to cultivate now that the dragons didn't destroy their fields at least once a month. And the bread, _Gods, the bread_… She had to get the recipe. It was criminally delicious.

Astrid couldn't remember the last time she had been _this _full. And none of this, a feast this grand and lavish, would have been possible if it hadn't been for Hiccup and his efforts to keep the Red Death occupied.

Not that anyone felt the need to thank him for that. Hiccup wasn't publicly mentioned in general, his existence ignored, the truth about the Phantom and the accompanying question of who would succeed Stoick as Chief too sensitive to casually discuss. But they knew as well as she did who was responsible for Berk's newfound prosperity. She could tell by the looks the villagers gave her, and her son.

All of it went over Hamish's head, of course, who was completely unaware of how many people kept an eye on him as Tuffnut tried to teach him and Solveig how to dance. Not far away from them, Heather and Fishlegs set a good example - they hadn't missed an occasion to dance since that very first time, when Hiccup had paired them up at Snotlout and Ruffnut's wedding. Looking towards the other side of the dance floor, she spotted Spitelout, who was watching his granddaughter with obvious dismay.

She smirked and shook her head. How petty, being grumpy over two toddlers. It wasn't as if they were getting married. Now that would be a disaster. A Jorgenson and a Hofferson. _Right_.

"Enjoying the view?" Ruffnut quipped, sitting down next to her on her bench and leaning back against the table, a mug in her hand.

"Well, they do look adorable, don't you think? Better than them starting to pull on each other's hair again."

"Tuffnut's surely got a way with them," Ruffnut nodded. "But I was actually talking about the look you were giving my lovely father-in-law."

She snickered. "He hasn't grown on you yet either?"

"Oh, he has. Like a splinter in my spleen, slowly forcing its way in and festering until it smells and hurts so bad you'd rather drive a knife through your chest." Ruffnut took a gulp of her hot yak milk. "But, speaking of parasites and things I should probably see Gothi for…" Astrid pulled up an eyebrow, but Ruffnut didn't look at her. "That disgusting herbal tea they say is the solution to all our problems? Not always effective."

"Well, yeah," Astrid grinned, gesturing to the dance floor. "Forget to take it one morning and you've got yourself an adorable mini-Hiccup."

"I did take it every day."

Astrid gaped at Ruffnut. "You mean...?" She glanced at her mug of mead before Ruffnut answered, figuring she'd had too much. Sober Astrid would have caught on to that immediately. "And you mentioning Solveig having to learn how to share earlier today…?"

"Yep," Ruffnut answered, making the 'p' pop. "Sol's getting a sibling this Summer."

"Whoa, I mean…" she blinked, trying to come up with an appropriate response.

_Oh Gods_.

She shook her head, snapping herself out of the hint of panic simmering beneath her skin. "Congratulations!"

Ruffnut just nodded, looking away. "I suppose so."

"You're not happy?" she asked, trying not to let on that she herself also had strongly mixed feelings.

"I mean, I'm not _unhappy_, I love Solveig, but it's just…" Ruffnut sighed. "Complicated."

"Does Spitelout know yet?"

"No." Ruffnut shook her head. "Just Tuff, my mom and Snot. But I don't think Snot can keep it a secret for much longer, he's too excited. So we'll probably tell his dad tonight. And I'd rather you hear it from me than any of Spitelout's gossipping friends."

"Thank you," she said, from the depths of her heart. "I really appreciate that."

"It's nothing," Ruffnut shrugged, followed up by a grin. "Gives me someone to complain to when Spite starts digging up every folk tale telling desperate men how to make sure their women give birth to a boy."

She snorted. "You don't want a mini-Snotlout?"

"I don't want a mini-Spitelout," Ruffnut corrected her. "And I'm sure Snotlout would be perfectly happy with a whole horde of girls to spoil."

"Until they start dating," she joked, hoping she didn't sound too relieved by Ruffnut's preferences.

"At least the chaos won't be mine, for once," Ruffnut smirked. "I can't wait."

She scoffed. "Never a dull day on Berk, huh?"

"Don't even need a Phantom to stay entertained," Ruffnut remarked, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Although that human disaster of yours was easier to deal with, in a way."

"Maybe," she murmured, the both of them glancing at Hamish, Solveig and Spitelout.

"You know, Astrid?" Ruffnut's voice dropped, only audible to the two of them and surprisingly serious.

"Hm?"

"I think I'd like Hiccup to come back too."

* * *

Hiccup was even further away from Berk than usual. He didn't necessarily hate that, but to say he was happy would be a severe overstatement.

Then again, happiness wasn't one of the things he deserved to get for Snoggletog this year.

He took out his sketchbook and sat down, Toothless lying down next to him and Stormfly standing guard at the other end of the island. He searched for one of the rare empty pages and glanced up, placing his pencil on the paper and outlining what he saw in front of him.

The Rookery was a busy place on Snoggletog Day. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of dragons, some of which he recognised from his army, others from the Red Death's nest. But the dragons didn't seem to mind meeting their enemies here. Today, they were all equal, tending to their new hatchlings with unconditional love and care. It was as beautiful as it was frustrating.

He'd prefer to be back on the Red Death's island and continue the fight. His efforts had been stalling for a while now, the Dragon Queen preferring to keep her head down in the heat where he couldn't reach her. But if she kept that up, she'd starve sometime soon. There was no other logical option. He just didn't know how much longer she would take.

What he did know was that being at the Nest wouldn't yield him anything. He needed his other dragons to make a real impact, so he might as well watch over them and their babies for the time being. Perhaps he could intercept a few of the others on the way back, earn their trust to the point that they would join him instead of returning to serve the Red Death. Then at least it hadn't been a complete waste of time.

He knew he didn't _need_ to be here. In all the years he'd guarded the Rookery, there hadn't been a single Viking ship in its vicinity. He was the only one who knew where this island was. He could go wherever, to the Northern Markets to fix up his armour, to Berserker Island to take stock of Dagur's degree of insanity during the holiday season… To Berk, just to give them a sign he was still alive. A Snoggletog surprise.

He snickered to himself as he heard another Gronckle egg explode in the background, an idea popping up in his head. Dragon eggs, on Berk, a ribbon tied around them. Looking perfectly innocent until they exploded. Letting him be a menace even though he wasn't anywhere near Berk. For entertainment's sake, this time.

"Nah," he decided. "It's a good thing those hatch far away from Vikings. Should probably keep it that way."

As much as he tried to be a changed man, to think differently, to not get stuck in the negative spiral that had landed him in this spot in the first place… He wasn't a huge fan of the idea of letting adorable baby dragons anywhere near Vikings either.

Instead he eased his boredom by continuing his sketch, capturing the Rookery's bright beaches and many dragons as well as he could with charcoal alone. It was certainly one of the most beautiful islands in the Archipelago, and hard to properly translate to paper. Still, he didn't think he was doing too badly. Toothless agreed, warbling his approval when Hiccup showed the sketch to him.

He considered finding a Terrible Terror and sending it to Berk with the sketch. A Snoggletog present for Astrid, like the figurine of Toothless he'd given her five years prior. He'd told her about the Rookery, and she'd wanted to see it, but had never taken her there because it was almost a day's flight away from Phantom Island. They'd both figured there would be a time for that. They'd both assumed he wouldn't screw things up this badly.

This could be a way to make it up to her.

But he shouldn't. He couldn't contact her. He wasn't allowed to. He hadn't earned the right to interrupt whatever she'd built for himself after he'd left. Not yet. For all he knew she was living her life happily without him. Alone, or with a man who was better for her than he ever could be.

He didn't know. He had no idea, it was completely out of his hands. He didn't have a sliver of control over it. And that sense of incompetence, that loss of power, was eating away at him, making his heart ache.

He missed her. He missed her _so much_.

Finishing his sketch, he made a promise to himself. He would kill the Red Death before the next winter. By next Snoggletog, he would have seen Astrid again. And even if she didn't want anything to do with him, which he couldn't blame her for, he would know she was doing fine.

This would be the last Snoggletog he spent in uncertainty.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Astrid got back to her own home. She silently thanked her parents for agreeing to host Snoggletog at their place this year, so she didn't have anything to clean up. She could simply carry Hamish, who was half-asleep in her arms, into their bedroom in the back without having to care about anything else.

"There you go, little Terror," she smiled as she put him down on their bed, shushing him as she pried his new notebook from his hands. After he'd finished 'dancing', they'd worked on it for a while. Hamish couldn't read yet, let alone write, so she'd helped him sketch out the runes of his name on the first page. He'd continued to test out his pencil for the rest of the night, drawing simple shapes until he'd finally tired and fallen asleep in her lap.

She struggled to get him to cooperate as she took off his outer clothes, eventually resigning herself to simply tucking him in in the outfit he'd worn today instead of changing him into his nightshirt. She wandered around the house for a bit, making sure they wouldn't get too cold during the night, before changing into her nightdress herself.

Hamish stirred when she slipped in next to him, opening his eyes and crawling towards her, murmuring something unintelligible.

She took him into her arms and sat back against the headrest. "What is it, baby?"

"Thless," was all she could identify.

"What?"

Hamish fisted one of his hands in her dress, his green eyes gazing up at her through heavy eyelids. "Toothless."

"You want Toothless?"

Hamish nodded, and she reached over to her night stand, picking up the wooden Night Fury figurine on top of it. Hamish grabbed it from her as soon as he laid eyes on it, cradling it against his chest. He'd been completely in love with it from when he was a baby.

She hugged Hamish tighter, lightly tapping the figurine's snout. "Did you know that mini-Toothless was the first Snoggletog present Daddy gave me?"

And the only one. But Hamish didn't need to know that.

Hamish's eyes lit up despite his exhaustion, the way they always did whenever she mentioned Hiccup. Whenever she told him stories about his father, letting him believe Hiccup hadn't abandoned them but that he cared, that he loved Hamish at least as much as she loved him. That he was simply away to do very important work. To fight an evil dragon and protect all the good ones she told Hamish stories about.

Hiccup was Hamish's hero. She had built his image that way. One of an adventurer, an inventor, someone who fought for what he believed was right. All that Hiccup was if she chose to leave out the shadows and the scars. A Hiccup without the Phantom.

The Hiccup she desperately hoped to see the day he finally came back. Who could, at the very least, be a father to Hamish. If he wanted to.

_Gods, she hoped he wanted to._

"He made it himself," she explained, trying not to tear up. "Carved it out of wood and painted it to look just like the real Toothless. So that he'd always be with me." She kissed the top of Hamish's head. "And with you too, of course. Even when he's away to fight."

"Daddy and Toothless have Snoggletog too?"

"Of course," she lied, because she didn't know. She had no idea where Hiccup was, or what he was doing. She had no idea if he was alive. She didn't know anything.

She kept telling people he would come back. While she wasn't even sure herself.

"Odin only visits kids, but Daddy and Toothless celebrate Snoggletog with each other," she improvised, biting away her tears when Hamish focused his gaze on the figurine in his hands. "They exchange gifts, although Toothless isn't very good at it. He usually gets Daddy raw fish."

Hamish giggled, and she went on for a while more about all the different kinds of fish Toothless liked, slowly lowering her voice until her perfect piece of happiness fell back asleep.

Then, she cried.

She kept Hamish cradled against her, not because she was afraid he'd wake up. Not because he needed it. But because she did. Because sometimes, she wasn't as strong and hardened as she wanted to be. Because on days like these, she longed for every possible kind of distraction, to prevent herself from succumbing to the incredible sense of guilt and grief she still hadn't managed to shake.

So she wept in silence. She had held out all day, and now allowed herself to have this moment. To imagine that she'd hear three knocks on her roof tonight and that Hiccup would slide in through the window, hugging her and assuring her that from now on, everything would be fine. That Ruffnut's new pregnancy didn't matter, because he'd come back. That he was going to fix the mess he'd left behind. That the Phantom was gone, and that he was here for them now. That she no longer had to do it alone.

That he loved them. That'd he'd never leave them again. That he would take care of his son until the day he died. And that he'd do the same for her, finally fulfilling his promise to make her his wife.

Just for tonight, she could be that naive. She could dream, she could hope. She could let go of what was sensible, and realistic, of all the plans she'd made for when Hiccup did come back.

And even though she hadn't asked Odin for a present since she'd been eight, she now found herself whispering her only wish for the Gods to hear.

"Please bring Hiccup back. And let this be our last Snoggletog without him."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this little look into the current lives of everyone we came to know in **_**The Phantom of the Arena**_**, and that you all have a very happy holiday period!**

**I'd like to leave you guys with a bit more concrete information on the sequel I talked about in the author note at the start; I am currently working on writing it, but because I have a busy half a year ahead of me, I first want to have the first act (about 10 chapters) done before I start posting. I hope the posting will start in February at the latest, but I can't make any promises. For more updated information, you can always look at my Tumblr (aleteia-ff) or join the channel #aleteias-fics on the ATOV Discord Server (link can be found in the description of my Tumblr profile). **

**I can give you guys the summary as a little teaser, however:**

_**After five years of relentlessly putting up a siege against the Red Death, Hiccup, the former terrorist known as the Phantom of the Arena, has finally defeated the Archipelago's greatest enemy, putting a definitive end to the dragon raids. Hoping the worst is finally behind him, he returns to Berk, only to find he left more behind than just the girl he loved. And that life still isn't done with him. **_

_**Outside of the Archipelago, Eret, son of Eret, is left with nothing after a mysterious dragon rider destroys his fort and releases the captured dragons his employer sorely needed. Fearing he'll be killed if he doesn't, he returns to the Archipelago with what little remains, hoping to find employment in the dragon-infested area. But the threat seems to have followed him, as news spreads of how Berk's infamous Phantom has returned to reclaim what's his. And that dragon hunters like Eret will never be safe, unless they act against him.**_


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